The atmosphere in the manor house was subdued that evening. No one felt like eating dinner. Mrs. Thornfield retired to her room early, as did Farleigh and Dewhurst.

Aware of Analisa's distress, Alesandro took her into the library, settled her on the sofa, and covered her with a blanket. He asked Cook to bring her a pot of tea, then dismissed the man for the night.

Analisa refused the tea, but he insisted she drink it, hoping it would help to calm her.

He sat beside her on the high-backed sofa while she sipped her drink, his mind brushing against hers. Her emotions were tangled - love for him, tinged with a hint of fear, a deep loathing for Rodrigo, concern for her own safety, sorrow and guilt for Sally's death.

"You must not blame yourself, 'Lisa," he said quietly. Taking the empty cup from her hand, he placed it on the table, then slid his arm around her shoulders. "There is nothing you could have done."

"I'll miss her."

It occurred to him again that Analisa might be lonely. It was for that reason he had planned to take her to meet her neighbors that ill-fated night. Sally had been the only one on the staff close to Analisa's age, and now she was gone. It had been centuries since he'd had a close friend, years since he had socialized with others. Years since he had spent an idle evening dining and dancing or playing cards with his cronies. More years than he could recall since he had given thought to anything or anyone aside from his own survival.

He looked at Analisa thoughtfully. What right did he have to keep her hidden away from the rest of the world? She was young and beautiful, ignorant of the pleasures of city life. Did she secretly yearn to go out more? To spend time with people her own age? What kind of life was it for her, to spend her days in near solitude, waiting for him? Still, when he had offered to introduce her to society, she had refused to go.

"'Lisa, are you happy here, with me?"

"Yes, of course. Why do you ask?"

"Are you ever lonely? Bored? Do you miss being around other people?"

She stared at him, a dozen emotions chasing themselves across her face.

"Tell me the truth, 'Lisa, not what you think I want to hear."

She considered her answer carefully. It had been nice, at first, playing lady of the manor, but she was used to working hard from dawn till dark. At home, there had been a cow to milk and pigs to feed, eggs to gather, a garden that was constantly in need of weeding. She had to admit she hadn't liked it much at the time, but it had kept her busy, given her a sense of accomplishment.

"Sometimes I get lonely during the day, when everyone else is busy," she admitted. "But I'm not bored. There are so many books to read, and Mrs. Thornfield has been teaching me proper etiquette, and Sally..." She bit down on her lower lip. "I'm going to miss her so!" Tears welled in her eyes, coursed down her cheeks. "Oh, Alesandro! She must have been so afraid!"

He drew her close, stroking her back while she cried out her grief. He murmured to her softly in his native tongue, his heart aching for her hurt, her loss. Hard-hearted creature that he was, the maid's death meant little to him personally. He was sorry she had died so horribly, angry that Rodrigo had dared to harm someone in his employ, but he'd had little interaction with the girl.

"I think I should take you away from here, my sweet one."

She looked up at him, blinking at him through her tears. "Away?"

"I have a small house in the city. I think the change of scene would do you good."

A fortnight later Analisa found herself walking through the fancy front door of a two-story house on the outskirts of London. Alesandro had said it was a small house, but it was small only when compared to Blackbriar Hall. The house had obviously been empty for some time. There were sheets over all the furniture; the air carried the faintly musty smell of disuse.

Mrs. Thornfield immediately began opening the windows. Cook went to look over his new domain. Farleigh stayed outside to see to the horses. Dewhurst moved in and out, carrying their luggage into the house.

Analisa stood in the middle of the parlor. It was a large room, decorated in dark wood. The ceiling was high; floral paper covered the walls; a carpet of deep blue and green covered the floor. There was a large fireplace with an overmantel on one wall, a bookcase and writing desk on another, an empty display cabinet on a third. A high-backed sofa and a pair of matching chairs were situated before the hearth. The walls were bare. She thought it odd that the cabinet was empty, that there were no paintings on the walls.

"Mrs. Thornfield, what shall I do?"

The housekeeper looked at her as if she had just offered to walk naked across Trafalgar Square. "Why, nothing, child. Why don't you go upstairs and have a look at the bedrooms and see which oneyou prefer?"

Analisa's shoulders slumped. Sometimes she felt so useless. Would it be so wrong if she did a few chores? She was young and healthy, after all. But whenever she offered, Mrs. Thornfield wouldn't hear of it.

"Go along now." The housekeeper made a shooing motion with her hands. "I'll look after things down here. Oh, Cook wants to know what you would like for dinner."

Analisa shrugged. "I don't care. Tell him to surprise me."

"Very well," Mrs. Thornfield said. Hands on hips, she glanced around the room, muttering something about needing to hire some help.

Analisa sighed. Hiring help seemed foolish when she had two good hands and a strong back, but there was no point in arguing.

After removing her hat and placing it on the rack, Analisa went exploring. The kitchen was downstairs, and off limits to all but Cook and his helper, should he hire one. The dining room was across from the drawing room. It was a large, rectangular room. The ceilings were high in here as well, the walls paneled. The table and chairs were of walnut, intricately carved, as were the sideboard and china cabinet, which was empty.

There was also a small breakfast room, similar to the one at Blackbriar. It seemed to be the only room not done in dark wood and fabric.

Going up the stairs, she found three small bedrooms, each with its own sitting room, and a large master bedroom. The next floor held the nursery and the schoolroom, and above that were the servants' quarters.

Going back down to the second floor, she went into the master bedroom. Removing her gloves, she tossed them on the chest of drawers and began plucking the sheets from the furniture. She immediately fell in love with the room. The walls were papered in a soft green and yellow stripe with white trim. The bed had a canopy. There were a dainty dressing table and chair, a matching washstand, a rocking chair beside the window. In the adjoining room were a large wardrobe and a full-length mirror.

A thick green carpet a few shades darker than the spread on the bed muted her footsteps as she dropped the sheets on the chair, then opened the window, which looked out over a small yard. It was a lovely view. There were a large leafy tree, flowers, and a small arbor.

She whirled around at the sound of footsteps, her heart pounding in anticipation even though she knew it was too early for Alesandro to be up and about. And indeed, it was only Dewhurst bringing her luggage.

"Where would you like these, miss?" he asked.

"Just put them there beside the bed."

"Yes, miss. Mrs. Thornfield said to tell you that Cook has prepared a light lunch. It's waiting for you when you're ready."

"Thank you, Dewhurst."

With a nod, he left the room.

The next few hours passed swiftly. She ate lunch, unpacked her clothes, took a long, leisurely soak, washing away the dust of the journey. And all the while her thoughts were on Alesandro. Where was he now? She knew he was capable of moving rapidly from place to place. He never slept in his rooms at the Hall or the Manor; they were little more than places to keep his clothes.

She glanced around the chamber. Would he expect to occupy this room? It was, after all, the master bedroom, though she could not imagine him staying here. The room was too bright, too cheerful somehow. It made her wonder if he had ever stayed in this house at all. But if not, why did he have it?

Aware of the setting of the sun and the cooling water, she left the tub, dried briskly, and began to dress. First came the chemise which fell almost to her knees, then her stockings, then her drawers. Next came her corset, something she had never worn on the farm. She looked at it a moment, then dropped it on the bed, remembering that Sally was not there to lace it for her. With a sigh, she put on her robe. Sitting at the dressing table, she began to brush out her hair, studying her reflection as she did so. What did Alesandro see when he looked at her? She had never thought of herself as pretty. She had always been too plain, too thin. She leaned forward. She had paid little attention to her looks in the past, but now she studied her face carefully. She had filled out in the months she had been here. There were no hollows in her cheeks, no shadows under her eyes. Her skin was clear, her cheeks rosy. Her hair was thick and had a nice healthy sheen.

"I see a young and beautiful woman when I look at you," came a deep voice from behind her.

With a little cry of joy, she turned to face him. "Alesandro! You're here at last."

"Dare I hope that you missed me?"

"You know I did." Rising, she moved into his arms and rested her cheek against his chest.

"So, where would you like to go on your first night in the city?"

"Wherever you want, Alesandro. It doesn't matter to me, so long as we're together."

"Ah, 'Lisa, you make me weak."

"You, my lord?" she said with a smile. "That you could never be."

It was good to see her smile, good to see the sorrow momentarily gone from her eyes.

"I hope you don't mind that I've taken this room," she said.

"Of course not." He glanced around. The decor was far too feminine for his taste.

"It wasn't your room, then?"

"No. I have never lived in this house."

"Never?"

He shook his head. "I won it in a card game several years ago." He glanced around the room. "This is the first time I have been here."

"Is that why the display cabinet is empty? Why there are no paintings on the walls?"

"Yes. I won the house and the furnishings, but I allowed Henry and his wife to take their personal effects."

"Are you sure you don't want this chamber? It's the largest one."

He shook his head. "You keep it. I shall take the room that adjoins it."

A faint blush warmed her cheeks at the thought of him having the room next to hers. It seemed so intimate, almost as if they were man and wife.

"So, my sweet," he said, "Lord and Lady Summerfield are hosting a gala tonight. Would you like to attend?"

She looked up at him, her gaze searching his. He wanted to take her out, and although it seemed wrong, with Sally so recently laid to rest, perhaps it would do her good to get out of the house, to think of something else besides Sally and Robert and the vampire who had killed them. She had thought of little else in the past two weeks, cried until she had no tears left.

"Do not think of it now," Alesandro said. "There was nothing you could have done, and I will not have you blaming yourself. If you must blame someone, lay that burden on me, where it belongs."

"It was not your fault, either."

"It pleases me that you do not think so."

"Have you known the Summerfields long?" she asked.

"Indeed," he said. "It was from Lord Summerfield that I won this house."

She looked up at him, laughing softly when she saw the deviltry in his eyes. It was good to see him smiling, she thought, when he was far too often sober-faced and withdrawn. Perhaps it would do them both good to go out.

"What shall I wear?" she asked.

Going to her wardrobe, Alesandro withdrew a gown of ice-blue silk. It was a beautiful dress, but one she had never had occasion to wear.

She looked at him, waiting for him to leave the room so she could dress. But he only smiled at her.

"You have no maid, so I shall play the part," he said, and then cursed himself for his careless words.

He plucked her corset from the bed, laced up the back after she put it on. She stepped into her crinoline and tied it in place. Her petticoats came next, and then he slipped the silk gown over her head. The material felt sinfully delicious against her skin. The neckline was scandalously low, revealing a good deal of decolletage; the sleeves were slightly puffed at the shoulders, tapering down to her wrists, the skirt full over a modest bustle adorned with pink and white silk flowers. Kneeling, he placed her shoes on her feet.

"Will you do my hair, too?" she asked.

"Leave it down."

"As you wish, my lord."

"You look beautiful, 'Lisa."

"As do you, my lord Alesandro."

He lifted a brow at her. "Beautiful?"

"Yes, beautiful." And elegant, she thought. She had never seen a man to equal him. He wore a double-breasted tailcoat of fine black wool, a white shirt with a ruffled front, a black silk waistcoat embroidered with tiny black fleur-de-lis, a black bow tie, and black boots. Tall, dark, and dangerous.

He had never been a vain man but he smiled now, seeing himself through her eyes. She thought him elegant, did she? And dangerous. He couldn't deny that.

"Are you ready, my sweet?"

"Just let me get my gloves, and my bag." She plucked a pair of long white gloves from the dresser, along with a small silk purse that matched her gown. "Ready, my lord."

The home of Lord and Lady Summerfield was located in the fashionable heart of the city. Colorful lanterns lit the driveway; a liveried servant helped Analisa alight from the carriage. Taking Alesandro's arm, she walked with him up the winding drive to the house. Alesandro had planned it so they would arrive after dinner, so they were the last to enter. A servant took Analisa's wrap, and they went into the ballroom.

She paused inside the doorway. It was the first time she had ever been to such a soiree. An orchestra was playing a waltz and couples twirled around the floor, the men in sober black, the women like colorful butterflies. Servants moved among the guests who sat on the sidelines, offering drinks and dainty desserts.

"That is our host," Alesandro said, gesturing at a gray-haired man of medium height. "And that is his wife, Lady Summerfield." He pointed to a tall, angular woman who wore a dress that was a most hideous shade of yellow. "Come," he said, taking her by the hand. "Dance with me."

Alesandro waltzed her around the room, aware of the many masculine eyes that followed their progress. Analisa stood out like a rare diamond in a handful of fake gems. Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes glowed with excitement. He knew there wasn't a man present who didn't envy him; indeed, half a dozen unattached young men were lined up before the waltz ended, vying for the next dance.

Analisa looked up at him, confused. "Go," he said. "Enjoy yourself."

"But - "

"Go." He smiled as he placed her hand in that of the first young man.

"You won't leave me?"

"No."

Alesandro stood in the shadows, watching one man after another claim her for a dance. He heard the gossip around him as the matrons put their heads together, wondering who she was and why they hadn't seen her before. It was whispered that she was the daughter of a duchess, that she was a French courtesan, an actress from America, the bastard daughter of Lord Summerfield himself.

At the end of an hour, he cut in on her current partner and claimed her for himself.

Analisa smiled up at him, her cheeks flushed.

"You are the belle of the ball, my sweet," he said. "As I knew you would be."

"I don't know why they all want to dance with me. I don't even know most of the dances."

But he knew why. There was a freshness about her, an innocence that was sadly lacking in most of the other young ladies. There were worried looks on the faces of the matrons as they realized that there might be a new entry in the marriage market.

He kept her close for the next half hour before relinquishing her again. Fading into the shadows, he listened to gossip about himself while he watched 'Lisa move through the figures of a lengthy quadrille. For all that he was rarely seen in the city, his name was well known. People assumed he was the heir to the last Lord of Blackbriar Hall. Because he never aged, he was forced to leave Blackbriar every so often, returning as the son of the Hall's last occupant. It was a tiresome charade, but necessary.

He claimed her for the last waltz. Her cheeks were rosy, her eyes sparkling, as he whirled her around the floor, and he drew her closer, suddenly jealous of all the other men who had held her that night. He could smell them on her. He wrinkled his nose with distaste, wondering what madness had possessed him to bring her here in the first place.

A short time later, they bade farewell to their host. Alesandro was glad to have her alone in the carriage.

"Did you have a good time, 'Lisa?" he asked.

"Oh, yes! It was wonderful. Thank you, Alesandro."

He had been wanting to kiss her all night, and now, seeing her sitting there, her face flushed with happiness, her eyes glowing with excitement, he could resist the urge no longer. Sweeping her into his arms, he claimed her lips with his.

She yielded to him with a sigh, her eyelids fluttering down, her hand coming to rest against his chest, her fingers curling around his lapel as he deepened the kiss. She tasted of sweet tarts and champagne, the tastes alien on his tongue after so many years.

She moaned softly, her body moving against his, seeking to be closer - no easy task with the whalebone crinoline that seemed to take up half of the carriage.

Annoyed by that bit of feminine foolishness, Alesandro reached under her skirt, unfastened the ties at her waist, and yanked the thing off. The frame was collapsible, and he dropped it on the floor, then drew Analisa onto his lap.

"Thank you, my lord." She grinned at him, then wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him.

Her tongue played over his lower lip, driving him to distraction as he lifted her skirts.

She laughed softly. "Alesandro, what are you doing?"

"Only what you want me to do."

"In here?" She glanced at the carriage's close quarters. "Is there room?"

"We will make room." His eyes flashed in the darkness. She felt his hands moving over her, rearranging her clothing, and then his own.

Miraculously, there was indeed room enough.

When they reached home, he carried her into the house and up the stairs to her room. She was asleep by then, a faint smile lingering on her lips. A smile he had put there. The thought pleased him greatly.

He laid her gently on the bed, undressed her, and settled her under the covers. He gazed down at her. In four hundred years, he had never seen anything more lovely, more desirable. It was beyond his comprehension that she loved him, that she willingly satisfied not only his hunger for blood, but for her sweet flesh as well. He had not known love in four hundred years. How had he survived without it? In a matter of a few months, she had become his sole reason for existence. How would he find the strength to go on if she left him? If she died?

He thrust the disquieting thought from his mind. She was young and healthy.

She ages every day while you do not.

He tried to drive that thought from his mind as well, but he could not shake it off. She might live to be forty or fifty, even sixty, but it would not be long enough. A few short mortal years, and he would be alone again. Unless...

His gaze slid over her neck, to the pulse beating slow and regular in the hollow of her throat. So easy to bring her across. So easy to make her his forever.

He imagined what it would be like, falling asleep with her in his arms as the sun chased the night from the sky, kissing her with his first breath at dusk. Having someone to share his existence. Someone to hunt with, someone who would understand the hunger that drove him, the guilt, the need.

Analisa.

It was a beautiful dream, but one that could never come true. He loved her far too much to condemn her to the dark half-life he led, to deprive her of the freedom to enjoy the sun, the opportunity to bear children, to live a normal life with a mortal man. How could he bring her across and subject her to the relentless hunger, the darkness of spirit, that had plagued him for centuries?

Bending, he brushed a kiss across her cheek.

"Sweet dreams, my 'Lisa," he whispered, and went to seek his lonely bed.